


And time as it stands won't be held in my hands

by Ferrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Porn, Guilt, Jealousy, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrera/pseuds/Ferrera
Summary: Dean needs Sam more than Sam needs Dean.It hasn't always been that way. Dean’s not exactly sure when it started to change— must’ve been somewhere after teaching Sammy how to use a knife for self-defense but before he’d started training him to handle a gun, somewhere between Sam giving him the amulet and Dean spending two goddamn months without him in a boys home, between John leaving them more and more often and sparring practice turning into something else entirely.





	And time as it stands won't be held in my hands

**Author's Note:**

> Sammy's fourteen, but there are mentions of him and Dean engaging in sexual activity when he was younger, so please don't read if you're uncomfortable with that.
> 
> Title's from Hey Now! by Oasis.

  
  
Dean needs Sam more than Sam needs Dean.  
  
  
It hasn't always been that way. Dean’s not exactly sure when it started to change— must’ve been somewhere after teaching Sammy how to use a knife for self-defense but before he’d started training him to handle a gun, somewhere between Sam giving him the amulet and Dean spending two goddamn months without him in a boys home, between John leaving them more and more often and sparring practice turning into something else entirely.  
  
  
John hasn’t quite seemed to catch up with the shift though. Dean's his oldest, of course, so it's only logical John keeps saying _I'll be back in a couple days, you take care of Sam, Dean,_ but still. If he'd really give it a thought, really paid attention, he could see how Dean’s aching for Sammy, how much it kills Dean not to have his baby brother close, how desperate Dean is to have Sammy’s face nuzzled to his chest and his arms wrapped around his waist, how bad he’s aching for Sammy’s pink mouth pressed to his.  
  
  
Dean would like to think he's hiding it well, but it's probably more due to their dad’s blindness than anything else, refusing to see what's going on right in front of his eyes, the things his sons do when he's not there too sick, too disturbing to even consider.  
  
  
“Dean, please,” Sammy whimpers, his pink mouth open and wet against Dean's neck, skinny little fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders. He's grinding down on his older brother's lap feverishly and Dean's got his hands wrapped around his slim hips, not quite guiding him, but not stopping him either.  
  
  
Dean really does need Sam more than his baby brother needs him. The desperate, needy little noises Sammy makes as he writhes and grinds in Dean's lap really aren’t any indication to go by. Anyone hearing them would believe Sam’s putty in Deans hands, so eager and greedy for his brother’s touch. Anyone would believe that Dean’s got Sam wrapped around his little finger. They couldn’t be more wrong.  
  
  
“Gotta wait, Sammy,” he breathes through gritted teeth as the swell of his dick slots perfectly between the cleft of Sam’s ass.  
  
  
If John would ever see them like this, and god forbid that ever happens, he’d see right through it all, Dean’s sure, and Dean could live with the shame as long as he’d have Sam, but he knows John would take them apart, send Dean away, to a boys home on the other side of the country or send him into the woods with nothing but a knife, just like he deserves. Sam would be alright, eventually, Dean’s sure he would, and he can’t quite shake off the feeling that Sammy would even be better off without him. Dean, though—Dean couldn’t stand to lose Sammy, and all he can do now is keep their dad from ever finding out.  
  
  
“Been fuckin' waitin' long enough,” Sam hisses, teeth nipping at Dean's neck in what's probably meant as a threat, but comes across rather sweet despite his efforts.  
  
  
“Watch your mouth,” Dean says, more out of habit than anything else. Sammy's real trouble these days. He's fourteen— _fourteen and a half, Dean_ , Sam keeps reminding him— and constantly picking fights with John, swearing at their dad, insulting him, testing how far he can go, and it mostly results in Dean having to keep them from ripping each other's heads off by dragging Sam away, telling him to behave, _didn't raise you like that, did I, Sammy?_ mostly to show John it wasn't _Dean_ who taught him those words, wasn't _him_ who made the kid deny their dad's authority.  
  
  
“Fuck me, Dean,” Sam whines, hips still moving in uncoordinated, desperate little circles. Dean's brought his hands down to Sammy’s bare thighs, fingers digging hard into the smooth skin in a poor attempt to get a grip on himself and tell Sammy _no fucking way_.  
  
  
“If you won't fuck me, I could just find someone else who will.”  
  
  
That smug little bastard is only trying to get a rise out of him, Dean's pretty sure, never showed interest in anyone else, no girls, no boys, even, but it still makes his jaw clench and his skin feel too tight. He digs his fingers deeper into Sam's skin, his dull nails leaving crescent-shaped marks that no one but Dean will see. He doesn't even doubt Sam's statement, fucking lots of dirty old men out there who wouldn't hesitate to fuck a pretty little thing like Sam, enough cute high school girls and guys stronger and taller than he is as well, no fucking doubt, but he knows Sammy’s fucking bluffing by suggesting he’d actually go looking for strangers to fuck him.  
  
  
Well, he hopes so. Just the thought of Sammy in the hands of anyone else makes his stomach turn, arousal washed over by a sickening feeling of jealousy and possessiveness, but he's not going to keep Sammy out of the hands of dirty old men by fucking the kid himself, that's just beyond sick. Dean might be fucked up, but he's not going to take advantage of Sam like that.  
  
  
“I'll take care of you, Sammy,” he murmurs, “I always do, don't I?” He's trying, at least. Promised himself the day Mary died to always be there for Sammy, promised their mom to take care of his little brother, to give little Sammy anything he could ever need. Dean used to bathe and feed him, help him get dressed in the morning, bring him to school and put him to bed at night, everything a mother would have done. Used to bandage up his scrapes, cuts and wounds, stitch him up if necessary and soothe the pain with kisses. He's been trying to protect Sam from the day he was born, fucking always trying, but what's it worth if he can't protect Sammy from his own greed, his own sick desires— can't even protect his little brother from himself?  
  
  
He's not going to fuck his fourteen-year-old baby brother. He can wait, but he knows he’s ruined Sammy long ago, and no amount of waiting in the world could ever make up for that.  
  
  
“Please, Dean,” Sam whines, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Dean clutches a hand in Sam's hair and pulls his head back a little, kissing him on his open mouth to shut him up. Sam whimpers into his mouth, sounding so fucking sweet and young and innocent it makes Dean's stomach tighten with a sickening mix of guilt, want and shame.  
  
  
Sammy was ten when Dean had first kissed him. John had been on a hunting trip, _I'll be back soon, son, you make sure you take care of Sam_. Dean had bathed Sammy, then gotten him ready for bed, his baby brother sitting on his lap in his pajamas while Dean combed his damp hair. He'd looked so sweet with his cheeks still rosy from the hot water, eyes a little drowsy, looked so much prettier than all the girls at school with his long lashes and his pink, pouty lips, and Dean just couldn't help but kiss him.  
  
  
Sam's eyes had widened a little in surprise. John had told Dean to stop giving his brother bedtime kisses long before, around the same time he'd told Sammy not to crawl into Dean’s bed anymore, but well. John wasn't there.  
  
  
_Love you, Sammy_ , Dean had said, _just wanna make sure you know_ , and then Sammy'd wrapped his short arms around Dean's neck, nestling his head against his brother's chest, whispering _love you too, Dean_ and Dean sat there on the side of his bed for what felt like an eternity, Sammy on his lap with his head tucked under Dean's chin, Dean's heart hammering against his little brother's cheek.  
  
  
“Dean,” Sam whines, rutting up against him, hard little dick rubbing against his abs, “please, Dean, I can take it.” Dean swallows hard, dick pulsing at his sweet promise.  
  
  
“Gotta wait 'til you're fifteen, kid,” he breathes against Sam’s neck, mouthing at his skin. He never would have kissed Sammy back then had John been there. The risk of their dad walking in on them— hell, even the bare thought of their dad in the other room was enough to keep him in line, the thought of disappointing his dad enough to restrain himself from kissing Sammy.  
  
  
“What fucking difference does that make?” Sammy bitches, nothing like the sweet, shy boy who used to blush as Dean would kiss him on his soft, pink mouth. Dean's sure it had been fairly innocent back then, before Dad went away more and more often and Sammy started to climb into Dean's bed on those nights, sometimes lonely, sometimes scared, and sometimes for no apparent reason, _just want to be close to you, Dean, is all._ Dean would try to talk it out of Sam's head, _you're almost twelve, Sammy, gotta be a big boy now_ , then loathe himself for the way his heart raced and his stomach churned as Sammy persisted, nuzzling against Dean's chest, little hands clutched into Dean’s shirt as he fell asleep. Dean would lay awake all night, desperately trying to block out his thoughts, trying to ignore the feeling of Sammy curled up so close to him, knobby knees drawn up, pressed to Dean’s thighs, Sammy's tiny fingers flexing against Dean’s chest in his sleep.  
  
  
Dean never would have touched Sam first, whether John would've been there or not. It was Sam, pure, innocent little Sammy who one night, after lots of tossing and turning, had taken Dean's hand and pressed it to his half-hard little dick, asking _is it normal that it gets hard sometimes, Dean?_ and Dean should've withdrawn his hand, should've been a good fucking brother and talk to him about the birds and the bees, but instead he'd taken Sammy's sweaty little hand, guiding it down his abs and lower, and told him _yeah, Sammy, happens to me too_.  
  
  
It still makes his stomach turn and his cheeks heat up in shame thinking about it. He buries his face in the crook of Sammy's neck, making his little brother giggle soft and shy in surprise.  
  
  
“It does make a difference to me,” Dean mumbles against Sam’s skin as he breathes in his scent. He’s freshly showered and smells of everything spicy and sweet, of warm cinnamon buns, gingerbread men and those peppermint-flavored lip balms that all the girls at school use to plump their lips and which Dean swears he can taste off Sammy’s lips as well.  
  
  
“Gotta make sure I'm ready, then, for when I'm turning fifteen,” Sam goes on smartly, “gotta open me up with your fingers.”  
  
  
“God, Sammy, I'm not puttin' anythin' in you 'til you're fifteen,” Dean groans, fingers and dick twitching at the thought, making him dizzy with anticipation. It kills him to have little Sammy so needy and desperate on his lap, inflaming his shame and guilt for not being responsible enough, for not being a good brother to him, fucking kills him to need Sam like this. He wishes he could block those thoughts, those feelings of guilt out but he rarely succeeds, Sammy could never beg loud enough to drown out all the voices in his head screaming _he is your baby brother, you were supposed to take care of him but you've ruined him._ It’s only when Sam grinds down so perfectly on Dean, the both of them pressed close, Sammy's little dick rubbing against Dean's abs, when Sammy wraps his arms around Dean's neck and kisses him so sweetly that Dean loses it completely and can think of nothing but Sammy.  
  
  
“Please, Dean, just your finger, okay?” Sam takes Dean's hand and guides it behind his back, lower and lower, and Dean digs his fingers into the swell of Sam's ass before the kid can bring his hand further down.  
  
  
If their mom could see them like this - and god, sometimes he swears he can feel Mary watching them - if he would ever see her again, he could never look her in the eyes for what he does with his baby brother, for breaking the promise he'd made. But what makes him want to slit his wrists is the thought that Sammy’s eagerness, his need is only a substitute for his real feelings, that it's only Dean's need, Dean’s desire that he's internalized, that he's only so desperate for his big brother because he doesn't know better, has only ever known _Dean_. Dean's never sure to what extent he's molded Sammy, to what extent Sammy's thoughts and feelings are shaped by him, but he knows he's ruined him long ago and that he's only picking up the pieces now with no real intention to properly fix him.  
  
  
“Just one finger, please, Dean, _please_.”  
  
  
His biggest fear though, what pains him more than anything, what wakes him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and then leaves him completely paralyzed, is the fear that someday, Sam'll meet someone else, someone who can give him everything Dean's been giving him and more; the fear that someday, his little brother won't need him anymore.  
  
  
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans and _god_ , Dean’s not going to shoot himself in the foot by denying Sammy everything he’s asking for, knowing what his little brother can get up to if he doesn't get his way. Sam could probably take two of his fingers— kid pretty much shoved his own little hand up his ass last week, three slim fingers fucking in and out of his hole, thighs spread wide for Dean to see, _look, Dean, I can take it, told you I could_.  
  
  
Dean rubs the pad of his index finger over Sam's lips and Sammy opens his mouth immediately, pink tongue flicking out, eager for a taste. Dean pushes his finger in and Sammy sucks greedily, hollowing his cheeks the same obscene way he does when he's trying to suck Dean off as best as he can, trying to fit as much of Dean's dick into his mouth as physically possible. Dean spreads his legs a little to force Sam's thighs further apart, then pulls his finger out of Sammy's mouth and dips it between the cleft of his ass. He slowly rubs over his tiny hole, getting it nice and slick, and Sammy sighs happily in anticipation, fingers going lax around Dean's neck. Dean pushes inside slowly, eyes never leaving Sammy's face. The kid closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering prettily, but his face doesn’t show the slightest hint of discomfort. Dean can hardly believe how easily he seems to take it. He's so goddamn tight Dean thinks he's never going to fit in there, not even when Sammy's fifteen.  
  
  
He starts to slowly fuck his finger in and out of his baby brother and Sammy takes it so perfectly, his pink mouth falling open, soft moans spilling out. He begs for more, begs so sweetly but Dean's gotta draw it out. At the rate they’re going soon enough there’ll be nothing more he can give to Sam except his unconditional love, and the thought that Sam might eventually look for something more, something Dean can’t give him elsewhere is too much for him to handle.  
  
  
“Please, Dean,” Sam whimpers as Dean speeds up a little, pretty face sweaty and flushed red. Dean’s rock hard, steadily leaking precome at the sounds Sammy makes. The more Sam begs and writhes and moans, the calmer Dean feels. Dean would never tell Sam how much all of this eats him up inside, but sometimes he believes Sam knows exactly how Dean feels about what he's done to him, knows just what to do to make him feel better about it, how to drown out the voices in his head.  
  
  
“Dean,” Sam whines, “ _oh_ , Dean, please, _please_ , I can take more—” then hitches and comes, spilling all over Dean's belly, writhing on Dean's lap, clenching around that one finger, and _god_ , just thinking about Sammy wanting more from him, how he'll feel with three of Dean's thick fingers inside him, how it'll feel around his cock is enough for Dean to lose it.  
  
  
Sam goes slack in Dean’s arms, sinking against Dean’s chest. He rests his forehead against Dean’s shoulder, mouth open, still panting softly. Dean can only wrap his arms tighter around him and keep him close.  
  
  
He cleans the both of them up eventually, more or less, using one of his dirty t-shirts. He'd got some laundry to do before dad comes back, but it'll be at least two more days. Two more days of kissing and touching Sam, two more nights of sleeping curled up together in Dean's bed. Dean lies down and pulls Sammy with him, tugs the blankets over them and pulls his little brother closer to his chest, nuzzling into his messy hair.  
  
  
“Y'know,” Sam whispers, “I wouldn't, you know, I'd never want other people to fuck me.” Dean swallows hard, his heart aching at Sammy's thoughtfulness, at how aware his little brother is of what’s running through his head. Dean tries to swallow the big lump in his throat, tries to mutter some kind of thanks, put he can only pull Sam closer, the words stuck in his throat.  
  
  
“Only need you, Dean.” The words are muffled against Dean's skin but Dean can make them out perfectly— it’s all he needs to hear from Sammy, as sick and pathetic as it might be, those words and the way he holds on to Dean exactly what he needs to make his heart feel a little lighter and it’s in moments like these that Dean can let himself believe that Sam might want, might even need him just as much as Dean needs him.  
  
  
“I'll give you anything you want, Sammy,” he says, voice hoarse, “I'm trying, Sammy, you know I'm trying.”  
  
  
Dean's got Sam shattered in pieces, but he keeps them in his heart and protects them with his life; Sam's got Dean in one piece, still, pulling the strings, but he’s all that's keeping Dean together, and if he’d ever leave Dean, Dean would fall apart completely and there’d be no one left to pull him back together.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first work in this fandom and I'm just hoping that people will appreciate it, so yeah, let me know what you think. I'm not American nor a native English speaker so I hope the phrasing isn't too far off and there aren't too many mistakes. If anyone would want to beta for me in the future, let me know. You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.saintedevote.tumblr.com).
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading!


End file.
